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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242155">Name a better thing than Love (I'll wait.)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Toonkind D&amp;D Fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The First Drafthouse (Toonkind D&amp;D)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dorks in Love, Enjoy!, Evershore Inquiry: Travels and Preparations, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Just pure gratitious fluff I wrote for Luis on their birthday, M/M, Multi, Musical Instruments, Mutual Pining, Pre-OT3, Pre-Relationship, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:08:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,549</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ve never fallen in love before, so you don’t know how it’s supposed to feel. The scene plays itself over and over in your head- Bob, with eyes far too knowing; Prim and Tobias, smiling at each other on the sidewalk; Rad, arms crossed.</p>
<p>And you, your heart quivering in your chest, sick with something you don’t have a name for. You hesitate to call it love. You’ve only known Primrose and Tobias for two days now, and you don’t think love is supposed to be this easy. But the fact is that you’d slept better sandwiched between limbs than you’ve had over the last couple of days, and you had woken up with nothing but a yawn tearing itself out of your throat, no bitten off screams from nightmares.</p>
<p>(Or, the one where the star trio gets a clue.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tobias O Chrowelle/Mersel Algor, Tobias O Chrowelle/Primrose Poodle, Tobias O Chrowelle/Primrose Poodle/Mersel Algor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Toonkind D&amp;D Fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Name a better thing than Love (I'll wait.)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>[</span>
  <b>Mersel</b>
  <span>]</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You’ve never fallen in love before, so you don’t know how it’s supposed to feel. The scene plays itself over and over in your head- Bob, with eyes far too knowing; Prim and Tobias, smiling at each other on the sidewalk; Rad, arms crossed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And you, your heart quivering in your chest, sick with something you don’t have a name for. You hesitate to call it love. You’ve only known Primrose and Tobias for two days now, and you don’t think love is supposed to be this easy. But the fact is that you’d slept better sandwiched between limbs than you’ve had over the last couple of days, and you had woken up with nothing but a yawn tearing itself out of your throat, no bitten off screams from nightmares.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The fact is that when you’d stacked pancakes on your plate you did so for three- the fact is that when Bob had told you to figure it out, it hadn’t taken long at all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And yes, you’re panicking, a little, a lot. You’re not good at this. You know how magic works- the laws it follows, the theory, the facts. You know how cooking works too, and that is almost more precious to you than your magic, a knowledge you earned for yourself, built up in kitchens and bakeries over the years. But you don’t know how to love yet. You’ve only ever loved a few people over the years, and even then, it hadn’t been the same. You don’t look at Luka and wish you could tuck his hair behind his ear. You don’t look at Splenda and imagine brushing hands, twining fingers. You don’t look at Miss Vava and wonder if what you’re feeling is love. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(You don’t spend a solid hour in the kitchen thinking about Tobias and Primrose over lunch, except you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You’d been so dazed following the eccr that even Jack had asked if something was wrong, and really, that spoke volumes, doesn’t it? You’re sitting here on a yellow plush couch, the ferry bobbing underneath your feet, and they’re still all you can think about.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Guys, look!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You turn your head at that. Prim is leaning against the railing, as close to the edge as she can get without physically falling off. The sun is setting. When she turns her head to stare at you and Tobias, you see that her eyes are shining, little golden orange flecks in black, yellow ripping over her- her head, her shoulders, her sweater, light reflected from the water below. She smiles at you two, and you’re transfixed. You stare. You try to feel bad for staring, but it’s hard when your eyes seek out the deceptively delicate curve of her wrist and the dimples on her cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs. It starts with a giggle first. And then it escalates into snorting laughter, and you’re gone, your thoughts trickling through your fingers like water. You turn to Tobias. He is a dark pink shadow at your side, and you’re caught in the moment again, a memory you will hold up to the light and recall over and over again in the future: Tobias, hardly daring to breathe, a soft “oh” slipping past his lips. Sun spots dancing on the deck and spilling over his shoes, his pants, his coat. Pale yellow ribbons threading pink bangs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You still don’t know how to love, or if this is love. But you murmur a soft “oh” of your own, breathless with the intensity of it, and maybe it doesn’t matter, least of all to you.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>[Prim]</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You don’t so much as fall in love as you do trip over it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blueberry calls Mersel and Tobias your partners, and any protest you’re about to voice dies in your throat, because it feels right. You stare at these two boys and something grows in the gaps between your ribs, twisting and lush and green- </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You flex your hands, and you remind yourself that you have two of them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You’re not sure exactly when you’d fallen for these two. Maybe it was during Calamity Dane, a flush to your cheeks that wasn’t entirely fabricated. Or at the eccr, when you all had collapsed on the couch nestled together between pillows and blankets, and you’d stared up at the ceiling and let their soft breathing distract you from your thoughts. Whenever it was you’d fallen, it can’t be denied you’re in for it now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(And really, it’s not hard to love them. Tobias is friendly and cute and has a smile that makes your stomach do little flips, and Mersel is kind and handsome and lets you steal pancakes off his plate. You make space in your life for them- or maybe you don’t, maybe you didn’t have to, maybe they just filled in what’s already there. You’d woken up this morning with a head full of feathers and heart shaped marks dotting the lines of their arms and necks, and you’d been embarrassed, yes; but you didn’t feel an ounce of regret.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the storm comes and the clouds roll in, you are afraid. You stay afraid, up until Tobias brings out his violin and begins to play, and then you’re not afraid anymore. You sit there for a few moments, dumbstruck, as Tobias coaxes out notes from his violin with ease. The song he’s playing isn’t stormy in the slightest, but you hear it over the thunder and lightning all the same. These soft and lilting notes that are meant for the both of you.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your hand finds your throat. To your right, Mersel has gone still. There are two red blooms blooming on his cheeks. He’s leaning into the music, towards Tobias, like a flower towards the sun. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You are too, you realize. The rain is coming down harder, but Tobias stays there out on the deck. Water drips off him, hangs suspended on delicate lashes like crystals. The dark yellow of his hair and coat stands out like a beacon in the night, and he keeps playing, and that feeling in your chest? The one growing between your ribs? You could choke on it now, all encompassing as it is, and you don’t think you’d mind even if you did.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You slip a hand into your sleeves, and your fingers catch on a familiar instrument. You pull your flute out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You take a deep breath, and you play.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(The feeling is indescribable. You play, and it’s almost like you’re singing again, but better, because you’re not alone this time. You carry the memory of Tobias’s serene expression even as your eyes shut.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(And when Mersel joins in, his fingers dancing across the keys, it doesn’t just feel indescribable- it feels complete. You wear your glee like a badge, and you keep playing, into the night, into the storm, and you don’t think. You don’t think of what this means, of being in love: you don’t have to.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(You’ve always been more of an action person anyway.)</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>[Tobias]</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You hold your smile like someone’s hand, and you keep playing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This- all this- surrounded by piano and flute music- it feels like coming home. You don’t need to open your eyes to know that your hair and coat are the darkest shade of yellow you could possibly go. You’re soaked to the bone and just as cold, but you don’t feel the slightest bit off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not sure you have a name for this. Your fingers dance over the strings, and you coax out notes that you’ve never been able to make ring so clearly in the air before, and you’re living, you’re living, you’ve never felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mersel and Prim don’t seem scared anymore. You and Primrose are huddled around the door, half in, half out, and Mersel is inside playing the strange machine. You’re buoyed up by a joy that is not entirely yours, a happiness that settles into the marrow of your bones, liquid sunshine and thunder, lightning through your veins.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Here and now, you’re not scared. You can almost believe you will never be scared again, languid, relaxed, pressure dripping off your shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(You open your eyes a little. You watch Primrose, let the power in her notes wash over you. Mersel’s fingers dance across piano keys, pale and laced with focus. And you, feeling like the last piece of a puzzle, intent bleeding over into the lines of your song.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(You shut them again, the storm brewing in the gap between your ribs fit to burst, your heart stuttering. This feeling is familiar, if not more intense than what you’re used to, but you don’t know what it is. Not yet. Not now, when the storm rocks the boat and you play harder to drown the thunder out.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(Not even later, when pink clouds leak out from the doorway to lap at your heels, or when Mersel waves his wand, sending balls of light floating around the deck to light the way, or when Primrose grins through the music and gives a laugh that sends ripples of emotions from your head to your toes. Not even then.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(You don’t know what this feeling is, but whatever it is, you know it will be great.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And then Tobias proceeds to find out and finally confess two games later-</p></blockquote></div></div>
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